


Coffin Born

by ordinarilyspeaking



Series: Enouement [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: A little?, Angst, Backstory, Batfamily, Bruce Wayne (mentioned) - Freeform, Death, Dick Grayson Being a Little Shit, Dick Grayson Feels, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson is a Ray of Sunshine, Dick is a child (at the start), Existential Crisis, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Gore, Hurt Dick Grayson, Hurt/Comfort, I Made Myself Cry, I Tried, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Jason Todd (mentioned) - Freeform, John Grayson - Freeform, Mary Grayson - Freeform, The Flying Graysons - Freeform, around the end, at the beginning, i might make this a series, it was 5am, only a little, only if yall want tho, pure fluff, tags are not my friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:49:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24340849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ordinarilyspeaking/pseuds/ordinarilyspeaking
Summary: “Mama, what happens when things go to a better place?”OrDick has an existential question that is in desperate need of answering, so he seeks some assistance. It then leads him on the bumpy path that is death.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & John Grayson, Dick Grayson & John Grayson & Mary Grayson, Dick Grayson & Mary Grayson
Series: Enouement [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1802242
Comments: 10
Kudos: 58





	Coffin Born

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not in anyway own any of these characters, they belong to DC!

_“Mama, what happens when things go to a better place?”_

  
  


Dick had never been to any proper funerals, that wasn’t until much later along in his young life, but was naturally curious as to what the, “better place,” truly was. He had first heard the phrase when Talula, one of the older elephants had given birth to a stillborn calf. He hadn’t understood the term at the time but he had felt a burning urge to cry as elephant trainers, Alexei Florence and Kaia Pham consoled the grieving mother. They told her that the calf had gone to a ‘better place’, and that everything was going to be alright as Talula stroked her calf with her trunk and many elephants lumbered over to follow suit. 

It had sparked an odd yet unquenchable curiosity in Dick as the mention of this better place and the word death began to arise in many conversations he would overhear. However, he was determined to figure the answer out for himself, without the assistance of his family, for he was three going on four years old in the coming weeks, which qualified him as a certified ‘big boy’. That meant Mama and Papa didn’t need to help him anymore, and that he was more than capable of finding out the answers to his burning questions all on his own. 

Inevitably, that quest had led to failure, as Dick couldn’t quite grapple with the concept of death and its finality. Talulas calf hadn’t been moving, it laid there without a twitch or a shiver. It had been the first time he had seen anything that was meant to be alive be so very still, as it resembled his Zitka doll a little too much for his subconscious liking. He had never seen a person like that either, and it scared him a little to imagine the thought so he tried his best to push it out of his mind. He was not one to quit but he soon realized that he needed to seek some assistance from some more knowledgeable people. 

  
  


The circus had made a stop in a vast valley that was on the outskirts of a town in France. They had just finished a wide-scale show in Paris, and that had garnered them a few days rest before they trekked on to their next destination. Dick had made the executive decision to snuff out an answer from whichever parent he stumbled upon first that morning. 

He firmly grasped his Zitka doll in his hands and rolled out of his shared bed, with an air determination. His mama was brushing her hair in front of their antique vanity mirror, and trying to untangle a few final knots at the end of her both incredibly thick and long hair. Dick toddled over to her and flopped into her lap, twisting slightly then looking up at her with a cheeky smile. 

“‘Morning,” He sang, stretching out the last syllable with his smile morphing into a sneaky grin with his dimples sticking out in plain view. His mama rolled her eyes, with a lopsided smirk that oozed fondness as she put down her brush and scooped Dick up into her lap. She gave him a quick peck on the forehead, as physical affection was a constant in the Graysons' lives, and was essentially second nature to them. _ ~~( It was one of the things Dick missed the most.)~~_

“Now, it looks like my little Robin wants something, so what do you need, love?” His mother hummed as she peered down at him, her green eyes peering into her son's vibrant blues, that could resemble the raging ocean on their worst or the vast sky on their best. 

“Mama, what happens when things go to a better place?”

Silence fell upon the room, holding its breath in anticipation for the answer that had been keeping Dick up countless nights. He leaned forward, eyes wide with a curious gleam radiating off of them. He watched his mother’s face morph from confusion, to realization with a dash of worry and then develop into a soft smile.

  
  


“ Dickie, how about after breakfast you and I go take a little trip?” 

Dick pouted, his heart sinking as he crossed his arms with childish annoyance. If his own mother hadn’t been able to answer the question then he hadn’t the faintest idea who would. He peered up at his mother through his slightly overgrown hair, trying to coax a better answer out of her. 

His mother let out a little giggle and ruffled his hair, “ Papa is making pancakes, so go eat up and then you’ll get the answer to your question, alright love? ” 

Dick huffed but begrudgingly agreed as he couldn’t deny his everlasting love of his father's pancakes. He slid off of his mother’s lap, giving her one last scathing look for not being able to give him a satisfying answer and toddled off to their small, yet cozy kitchen. 

His father, as was promised, was flipping pancakes and stacking them into a plate as he sang along to the song blaring on their old record player that he had gotten from his grandmother, and while the voice in the record sounded alright, his father's voice was something Dick could never get tired of listening to. 

Dick then hopped onto his designated chair, that had two cushions stationed on it after they deemed that while Dick was capable of eating without the high chair, he was still a little too small for his age. Dick laid his head onto the old mahogany table, still a little irritated by his underwhelming answer to his existential question. 

“‘Morning Dickie,” His father said, turning around with a smile that was instantly dashed after seeing his sons saddened state. He put down the spatula and knelt by his son's side, rubbing Dicks cheek with his index and middle finger, eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. 

“What’s got you down, baby boy? ” His father murmured, but Dick pouted and gave his father a doe-like glance. 

“I’m sad.” 

“What’re you sad about Dick?” 

“ Everything. ”

His papa sighed softly at his son's flair for the dramatics and pushed Dick's hair out of his face, “I’ll ask Rasha if she has time to cut your hair tomorrow, you look like a little Tarzan, but even he could give his papa a little smile.” 

Dick giggled slightly, leaned into his father's hand on his forehead, which resulted in his father giving him a wide smile and a kiss on the cheek, “ Do you want to help Papa make pancakes? ” 

Dick nodded so much his head could have come soaring off, which evidently made his father chuckle as he turned around and gave his back to his son. Dick climbed up onto his father's shoulder and perched his chin onto his father's head. 

He then gently held onto fistfuls of his father's thick hair, and leaned forward slightly, almost commanding his father to march onward. He had seen this in Ratatouille and become utterly convinced that he was able to control people by simply pulling on their hairs. However, after a few incidents, he had to learn how to be gentle when it came to his commanding abilities, so that he wouldn’t be pulling hairs ( _Johnny Jr.’s hairs_ ) out anytime soon. 

Dick had soon forgotten about his question as he helped his father make pancakes and lavished in the benefits of his hard-earned work by eating the delicious masterpieces. He was so engrossed with devouring his pancakes that he hadn’t seen nor heard the whispers between his parents, and the knowing looks they sent each other across the table as well as the silent agreement on how to go about the ordeal. 

Later on in the day, as the clock struck noon, Dick found himself tucked into a basket that was fastened in front of an old fashioned bike that his mother was mounting. 

“Are you ready Dickie?” His mother questioned, to which Dick nodded but gave her a skeptical look. 

“Is this really going to answer my question Mama?” 

His mother gave a knowing smile, “Would your mama ever let you down, baby?”

Dick thought about it, then gave a brilliant smile. This gave the pair the answer they needed before taking off onto the trail that led into the nearby town. 

The wind whizzed past Dick, playing with his hair and pecking his nose with kisses, almost like it was welcoming him and he couldn’t help but feel his heart soar as they went down a hill that led straight into the northern end of the town. He looked around curiously, as they passed grandiose houses with trimmed lawns and pristine cars perched by picket fences. 

“This is my hometown, and your papa came to live here when he was a little older,” His mother said, as she moved a little faster to get out of this side of town. Her shoulders a little hunched and a wistful look passing through her eyes that disappeared as quickly as it had come. Dick on the other hand was absolutely enamored by the fact that his parents had grown up here and was soaking in as much of the scenery as he could. 

The houses began to slowly transition to smaller and more compact homes that were stacked upon one another or crunched together at street corners, with vendors hollering, people bustling on the sidewalks and the number of cars became scarcer by the second. Dick was cramming as many questions as he could, with his mother who was happy to chat about certain areas that she remembered from her childhood.

His mother’s pace began to pick up slightly as they took a sharp right, and passed a neighbourhood that looked like it had seen better days. 

Buildings became almost nauseatingly tight and constricting, with an array of them looking like they had been rebuilt from a fire, but not very well. There were a few houses that while small, were quite well kept but it was a rare sight. People were everywhere, oozing out of alleys and corners of homes but it was quite quiet in the neighbourhood, like everyone was too caught up in the loudness of their own mind to want to make a sound. It seemed like a certain sadness hung over the neighbourhood, but Dick didn’t wallow in it for too long as his mother was quick to get out of the neighbourhood and enter into a wide field behind the area. 

She slowed into a full stop as she pulled the brakes out and hopped off of the bike. Dick raised his hands expectantly and his mother lifted him up to settle him on her hip. She held the handles of the bike, resting it against a rack and pushed open a gate that was in front of what Dick could only describe as a field filled with an assortment of stones and wooden crosses that stretched as far as he could see. He, for once, remained silent as he felt a certain heaviness weigh into his mother as she walked to a large wooden cross that sat in a little more secluded area of the field. 

His mother sat down in front of the cross, crossing her legs and gently placing Dick on the lap, her arms still wrapped around him as she turned him around to face her. 

“Now, I am going to be very honest with you, alright Dickie?” Dick nodded, his eyes peering expectantly up at his mother.

“When someone, or something, goes to a better place, it means that they have died. When they die, it means that they are not alive anymore. Their hearts and brains aren’t working, so that means they aren’t going to breathe and move or even talk, alright? Now, when someone dies they don’t come back, it stays like that forever and ever,” His mother said, brushing Dicks hair back behind his ears softly as she paused for a bit to let that information soak into her son's sponge-like mind.

“It can never be fixed?”

“Unfortunately, we can’t fix someone who dies Dickie. Once someone dies, we can’t start their body back up again,” His mother murmured, hesitating slightly before pressing on, “You’re a little too young for the ‘better place’ talk, but I’ll tell you that when people die, it can make everyone very sad, and I don’t want anyone telling you that it is not alright to cry. Crying is normal, and it’s always better to cry then trying to hold it all in. That’s something that even your mama needs to learn herself,” She said, cracking a small smile on her previously somber features.

“Anyways, when someone you love a whole lot ends up dying, it’s going to hurt—” 

“Like when you twist your leg?”

His mother shook her head, pulling Dick a little closer to her chest and turning him over to face the cross, “It’s more like when you twist your leg, or trip and fall except it all happens in your heart. Your heart and mind feel that pain, not the rest of your body.”

“Oh.”

“I know, it’s a little difficult to understand, love. Now, the reason why we’re in front of this cross, is because this where I buried my papa when he died. Most people want their bodies to be buried under the ground when they die, inside of a box called a coffin, but some people choose not to do that, and do something else instead, does that all make sense?” 

Dick was quiet, he stared at the cross intently, barely blinking. It had little inscriptions carved into it with a gold necklace hung on top of it. His eyes slid to the ground, as his mind tried to grasp the idea that there was a person there who was inside of a box, who wasn’t moving, breathing or speaking. 

“Dickie? I didn’t scar you for life, right? Do you need mama to explain it again?” His mother pressed, biting her bottom lip tightly as her eyes scanned Dick's face for a sign of distress or confusion. 

“No, I’m okay. I think I understand, a little bit,” Dick exclaimed with a hint of defensiveness slipping into his tone, lowering his voice a bit, “Did you love your papa?”

His mother looked a little confused by the question but grinned anyway, “I still love my papa, even if he’s not here with us. He was the best person I ever knew, besides your papa. You never really liked John, did you?” 

Dick realized a little too late that she wasn’t addressing him at the end, but rather the cross itself. He turned to her with an eyebrow raised and pouty lips, which was an expression his father had coined as, ‘A little Robin with ruffled feathers.’

“Not everyone believes this, but I think the dead can hear us. That’s why when you come to visit a grave, or someone who has died, you should always speak to them normally. Just because they’re dead doesn’t mean they want to be coddled!” His mother explained, wagging a finger at Dick and using a deeper voice that always manages to make him laugh, “Tell your grand-père about yourself, it’s his first time meeting you after all.” 

His mother pulled Dick up and straightened his sweater sleeves as well as the straps of his overalls. She gave an encouraging smile and that was all the reinforcement Dick needed to spin around and start prattling on to his deceased grandfather. He told him all about how he had just learnt to walk the tightrope, how he could do three somersaults in a row, what he had for breakfast that morning and so forth. 

He has lost track of all sense of time as he chatted away with his grandfather, who he had already loved for simply being able to listen to him without a complaint. ~~( _If he had a complaint he couldn’t very well say it but Dick liked the thought anyways._ )~~

His father, who had walked all the way to what Dick had found out was called a graveyard, had brought along a bouquet of flowers to perch next to the grave. 

“Papa! Mama said that Grand-père thought you were an in-so-lent brat!” Dick cheered, giggling and pointing a mocking finger at his father.

His mother shrugged and made a show of looking away as his father burst into laughter, “Believe me, Dickie, your grand-père called me far worse than that. One time, when I had taken your mama home after one of the best dates of her lif—Hey, it would have been the best dates of my life if I were you!” 

“Keep telling yourself that, honey.”

“I will keep telling myself that, thank you very much!” 

The sun had risen out of the clouds, showering the world with its endless light and sun. It promised a world of grins that went ear to ear, laughter that could be heard across the Himalayas and love that would continue to swell in one’s heart. Dick Grayson felt all of that, as he watched his parents get into a loving feud about the quality of a date that had happened five years ago with the ironically grounding comfort that his answer was, while not complete, was just right. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_______________________________________

  
  
  


No one had told Dick what to do when the world was dead. 

When the world had fallen to its demise, and bared in its wake dislocated limbs, all twisted and contorted into shapes that were simply _wrong_ , bloody pools oozing out of every pore and sinking into the ground as it contaminated it with its wretchedness, staining Dicks knees as well as any hope of feeling anything but an indescribable pit of pain. 

The world had fallen and taken Dick’s soul with it on the leap.

When it came time to visit and mourn his world, he had fallen to his knees in front of the cold slabs of stone that chained him down to the sickening reality that everything was _wrong._

He had buried his face into his hands and sobbed out to the world, desperate for it to hear him. Dick knew it was selfish, that he had to subjugate the world to his cries and screams, but he wanted them to somehow reach from under the grave and hold him. He needed them to kiss him and whisper that everything would be alright, and the sun would come out tomorrow as planned, with no complications. The world was here, and it was never going to leave him. A little part of him whispered that if he cried hard enough that maybe it could reverse the finality of death, or garner sympathy to give the world, his world, back to him. However, it came to no avail but he still cried, as if he had no control over the tears flowing from his eyes. 

~~_“Now, when someone dies they don’t come back, it stays like that forever and ever.”_ ~~

  
  


He barely felt Bruce’s hand grip his shoulder as an act of solidarity and comfort. In the depths of his mind, he pretended that it was his father, and nothing could have made him feel worse. 

  
  
  
  


________________________

No one had told him what to do when the dead left and his heart was sinking into his stomach with regret. 

He was slumped in front of Jason’s grave, his head hung low as the rain pelted him relentlessly, punishing him. 

Dick's fist was clenched into a tight ball, as he dug crescent shapes into his palms that were beginning to drip blood into the ground and his fingernails. His knuckles a glaring white as they ripped against the surface of his skin. His breath was ragged as his chest rattled from the bitter hollowness that resides within him. His sobs were quiet, but every hiccup was another jab at his already bleeding heart. 

_“Your heart and mind feel that pain, not the rest of your body.”_

That couldn’t have been true. Dick felt his whole body was about to collapse onto itself like a feeble house of cards, and everything simply _hurt._ He was so very tired, and he could feel his body aging with regret and bitterness at every breath.

He could have been so much better for Jason, and it was something he could never fully let go of, nor did he deserve to let go of it. He had _just_ gotten in the hang of being a decent older brother, after his many blunders and pitfalls. If he hadn’t spent so much time seething at rage at the _existence_ of Jason Todd, and how Bruce had thrown Dick away like some old rag that was to be disposed of, then he could’ve done so much more. He could’ve seen what a great kid Jason was, and how under that false bravado he was a young boy desperate to prove himself and find a place he could call home. Dick had been that boy once, and no matter how long he wallowed in what could have been, or what he should have done, it was never going to bring back his little brother. 

Dick rubbed his face with the back of his sleeve hastily, and tried desperately to ignore the crinkle of the tickets that resided in his pocket. He had been flying on ecstasy when he managed to snag VIP tickets to a band that Jason had been not-so-discreetly obsessing over the months leading up to Dicks off-world mission, and had been going over his master plan of how to properly surprise Jason with them.

~~_“Bruce, where’s Jason?”_ ~~

~~_“I’ll ask you again Bruce, where is Jason?”_ ~~

~~“ **_You were supposed to be protecting him!”_ ** ~~

Dick pulled himself out of his thoughts, the flies of self-deprecation spinning and fluttering around in his rotting brain. He tried desperately to calm himself down as his breath became quicker by the second and was developing into more gulps than inhales. 

“J-Jason, I’m sor—Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” Dick whispered, tears resurfacing as he stared wide-eyed at the gravestone in front of him, “I should have been better, and the only reason you’re here in the first place is because of my godforsaken legacy, and I. Jason, you are my little brother, please tell me you knew that. Jason, I need to know that you knew that be-before—”

Dicks rambling that was slowly descending into pleas of forgiveness trailed off. Dick snapped his head upward and noticed that the rain had stopped, it was by no means sunny but there were only a few clouds remaining in the grey Gotham sky. 

“This better be your way of telling me to stop talking,” Dick croaked, a slight twitch of his lips curved into a ghost of a smile, and while it was faint. It was all that was needed. 

“I’ll do better Jason, I promise you.” 

Dick sighed softly, he had never felt more lonely at a grave then he did now, but the vicious little voice in his gut told him he deserved it and he could help but agree. 

It was a somber moment, no cries nor screams, or endless chatter with bouts of laughter. It was Dick, his thoughts, and what Dick hoped was Jason’s spirit listening in. He could never get his mind off of what could have been and how things should have played out, but as his mother had said to him many years ago, the dead do not appreciate being coddled. 

  
  
  
  


_Fin_

**Author's Note:**

> I really thought I was having a big brain moment with this fic at 5AM, but it was my tired coffee deprived body writing up a storm. 
> 
> I wrote this based off of my own early experiences with death, as I had heard the term, “ They went to a better place,” numerous times and it really confused me as a child. I first heard it associated with animals so I wanted to integrate that into the fic, hopefully it worked :)! 
> 
> OH! The elephant stuff was actually something I searched up, and I found out that elephants mourn dead calves and they stroke them with their trunks and the whole herd or group join in, I found that both extremely touching but incredibly sad :(
> 
> (This fic started off pure fluff then it just got s a d i'm sorry but I had half a mind to write a section with Damian’s death but my heart couldn’t take it :( )) 
> 
> Thank y’all so much for reading, I am forever appreciative!! :)
> 
> P.S. There may be a few spacing issues, I heavily apologize as my laptop was being a little difficult in saving my work :)


End file.
